THE LAMP OF ST. NICHOLAS 36s 
my pocket turned the key of the box. ‘Now, my 
friends,’ I thought, ‘you may chuck the box over, but 
you don’t get the bolvans.’ 
Of course it was all discussed on deck, but when I went 
up I found them all very quiet, and nothing was said. 
Alexander and Yakoff both came down into the 
cabin presently, and talked with us as if nothing had 
happened. All seemed going well. The wind was a 
bit stiffer, but all in our favour, the night was clear, and 
St. Nicholas’ lamp was burning well, for the cabin air 
was warm. 
Hyland, who knew nothing of all this—I had not told 
him, and he did not understand Russian—soon went to 
bed, and we three went on deck. 
The wind was certainly freshening, and we went along 
at a fair speed. After stopping on deck for an hour or 
more, I thought I too would turn in. [ could just make 
out our consort’s outline, and, holding the cabin door in 
my hand, I shouted out ‘Good-night’ to Tima Fe, 
who, as I knew, was at the helm. Was there ever 
such a Solomon Eagle as he! My voice roused him in 
a moment. His muddled old brain pitched on the only 
theme it could connect with me. 
‘Bad bolvan, bad bolvan,’ he shouted back. And 
then across the water came the inevitable dreary formula, 
‘England far away. Yes, yes, far, far away.’ 
I stumbled down into the cabin. All was dark. The 
Lamp of St. Nicholas had gone out. 
